"I say," says young JERRYMAN, next morning, "what a place for bells!"

[Illustration: A Peripatetic Peal.]

And young JERRYMAN was right, for I was awoke in the small hours of
the morning by a loud peal from the Monastery, as if the Prior had
suddenly said to himself, "What's the use of the bells if you don't
ring 'em? By Jove, I will!" and had then and there jumped from his
couch, seized hold of the ropes, and set to work with a right good
will. Then the hotels and _pensions_ took it up, and so, what with
seven o'clock, eight o'clock, and nine o'clock breakfasts, first
and second _déjeuners_, first and second dinners, interspersed
with "Office Hours" sounded by the Monastery, and the sound of
the dinner-bells carried by the cattle, Dingle-berg, rather than
Engelberg, would be a highly appropriate name for this somewhat noisy,
but otherwise delightful health-resort.

"I call this 'fatal dull' after Paris," remarked a fair Americaine to
young JERRYMAN; and, perhaps, from a certain point of view, she may
have been right; but, fatal dull, or lively, there can be no two
opinions about the life-giving properties of the air.

* * * * *

OLD JOE ENCORE.--Last Wednesday in the FARRAR _v._ Publisher
discussion, a Correspondent, signing himself JOHN TAYLOR, of Dagnall
Park, Selhurst, wrote to _The Times_ to "quote an anecdote" about
DOUGLAS JERROLD and "a Publisher." Rarely has a good old story been so
spoilt in the telling as in this instance. The true story is of ALBERT